


Breathe

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Challenge: Response to Stress, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim uses his guide's methods to calm down a hyper Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

Imagine that; a challenge for a story about dealing with stress, just as I'm putting the finishing touches on my very first Sentinel fanfic. Cool -- I think this just might qualify. 

Newbie warning: This is a new obsession for me, and I've only seen five episodes of the 3rd season (and that's all I'll ever see if I don't find someone to make tapes for me (/beg)). However, I've read half the contents of both archives -- just don't ask how much work I've done in the past two months. If I'm really off the mark with anything, please let me know. 

Not beta read, so blame me for the errors. But blame Merry for the story; she got me into this. 

Disclaimer time: Not my characters. No money made. No harm was done to anything but electrons in the making of this story. Please don't sue. No one under 18, even though this is extremely tame (especially for me). Kissing, holding hands and snuggling by two men, so don't read if you don't like that sort of thing. 

Feedback is very welcome at phoenix4@concentric.net. 

## Breathe

by Elizabeth Butler  
January 1998  


Jim took a long drink of his beer as he watched his partner start another circuit around the loft. He was pleasantly tired, satisfied with the successful bust of a gun-running operation, and intensely thankful that the only casualty of that stray bullet had been a lock of his Guide's curly hair. It could have been much worse. 

And he couldn't even yell at the kid for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Blair had actually stayed with the truck this time. No one could have anticipated that the Dumpster would ricochet a stray bullet down the alley like a pinball in an arcade. 

Closing his eyes, Jim relived the brief moment in hell he'd spent when he'd seen Sandburg fall. His breath had frozen in his lungs as he'd pushed his hearing to its limits, until he'd heard Blair's heart beating. Way too fast, way too hard, but definitely beating. Other than the uneven chunk almost hidden by his hair's normal unruliness, his only other injury was a painful scrape on his cheek where he'd hit the pavement. 

Blair had talked nonstop all the way to the station, through all the paperwork, and all the way home without saying much of anything. Past experience had taught Jim that the more his partner talked, the harder he was trying to avoid thinking, so he held tightly to his patience and settled down to ride out the storm. Six hours later, Sandburg was still on his adrenaline high and bouncing off the walls like a hedgehog on crack. 

Jim sympathized; he'd been trained to deal with this kind of stress, and it had taken him over an hour and a couple of beers to relax. He suspected that part of the problem was the sheer unexpectedness of the bullet. If Blair had been in the midst of the battle, he would have been expecting to be shot at. But this time, he'd stayed well out of harm's way, supposedly safe and probably more concerned with Jim's safety than his own. When that bullet had whizzed by his ear, the kid had nearly had a heart attack. 

He glanced at his watch as Blair launched into a dissertation on South American tribes and their reaction to the introduction of firearms into their culture. Jim knew he'd have to do something soon. He might sympathize with the kid, but it was almost one in the morning. 

He interrupted a detailed comparison of flint-lock muskets and crossbows to growl, "Sandburg, sit down. Drink some tea or something." 

Blair swept through the kitchen and around the couch. He shoved his fingers into his unruly hair, then winced as he felt the ragged section clipped by the bullet. "I've had two pots of tea already. Any more and I'll float, man." 

He strode past Jim to begin another lap, and Jim caught him by the shirttail. One good yank, and his partner landed beside him on the couch with a gasp. "Then sit *down*, damn it," Jim ordered, keeping a grip on the shirt until he was sure Blair wouldn't bounce up and start pacing again. Even then, it was like leashing a greyhound. Blair practically vibrated with the effort to stay in one place. 

"Maybe I should, umm, go take a walk." He raised guilty blue eyes to Jim's. "That way, I won't be keeping you awake." 

Jim transferred his hold to Blair's arm before the younger man could launch out of his seat. "No way in hell," he stated flatly. "Not at this time of night." 

Those miserable eyes met his again. "I don't know what else to do, man. I can't meditate, the tea's not working. If I just keep moving-- " 

"You'll collapse from nervous exhaustion," Jim interrupted firmly. "More importantly, you'll drive me nuts." He briefly considered getting the younger man drunk, then discarded the idea. They both had to work tomorrow. 

Then he had an idea. Blair had talked him through enough panic attacks when his Sentinel senses veered into chaos; he knew the basics. The important thing was to get both Blair's mind and body to focus on one thing and quit churning out adrenaline before the kid drowned in it. Maybe he could do for his Guide what his Guide did so often for him. 

His partner made an abortive attempt to pull away, muttering about the running track at the university and whether security would let him in. Jim merely grabbed his other arm and gave him a little shake to get his attention. "Breathe, Sandburg." 

Blair inhaled as ordered, then used it to launch into another monologue. "I haven't been this hyped since that time in Cairo when that Greek shipping tycoon wanted to add me to his collection. I got so lost in the marketplace, it took me all night to get back to the hotel. Thought I'd never get my breath back--" He shuddered, then changed tack in mid-thought like a sailboat in a hurricane. "Man, we really ought to check the effect adrenaline has on your senses. When that bullet whizzed past my ear, I could swear I heard it sizzle and smelled the iron. I'm sure I felt every little piece of gravel I slid through when I hit the ground. If my senses could be intensified to that degree, think how yours must react. I'd love to see what factor-- " 

Jim hazarded letting go of one arm to clap his hand over Blair's mouth. "Shut up a minute, Chief, and just calm down." 

The helpless look Blair gave his would have softened the hardest heart. "I'm trying," he mumbled behind Jim's hand. 

Sighing, Jim relaxed his stern frown and shook his head. The kid *was* trying. It wasn't Sandburg's fault that the rapid, panicky beat of his heart was making Jim worry, or that he could smell the faintly salty, bitter scent of sweat on the younger man's skin. It certainly wasn't his fault that the quick breaths he was gulping in shivered over Jim's hand in warm, moist pulses. 

The kid was about to crash, and crash hard. 

"Listen to me, Chief," Jim ordered, using the gentlest of his "obey me now" voices. "Close your eyes and focus." For once, Blair obeyed without argument. Evidently he was more strung out than Jim had thought. He tried to match his tone to what he thought of as Blair's "Guide voice" -- soft, reassuring, compelling. "Breathe, Chief. Listen to my breathing and match yours to it." As he talked, he turned Blair to face him, one knee bent and one foot on the floor. He remembered how Blair normally meditated sitting cross-legged on the floor, and silently cursed as he broke his own rule about no feet on the couch. This was more likely to work if the position was familiar to him. So he arranged them both to his satisfaction and then covered the small fists on Blair's knees with his own hands. 

He concentrated on keeping his own breathing slow and steady. For long moments, he didn't think it was going to work at all. The hands under his trembled, and the rapid breaths brushing his face were just this side of hyperventilating. He added a quiet litany of reassurances, paying more attention to his partner's heartbeat than what he was saying. 

"You're safe now." Inhale. "You're all right." Exhale. "Nothing can hurt you here." Inhale. "I'll protect you." Exhale. 

Bit by bit, it began to work. Blair's breathing began to even out to an almost-steady rhythm punctuated by shivers. //Not bad for an amateur, Ellison// he congratulated himself. //But now that he's breathing, what do you do?// 

He sat there, taking the opportunity to stare at Blair without his knowledge. The unruly long hair that looked as springy as its owner, but Jim knew actually felt like stroking silk. The mobile eyebrows that served as punctuation marks for whatever emotion the younger man was broadcasting on his face at any given time. The fan of black lashes concealing clear blue eyes. The full lips, the lower one still showing teeth marks where Blair had worried it over the past several hours. 

All in all, Jim concluded, the kid was as beautiful as one of Michelangelo's angels when he was this quiet. But the essence of his partner was found in movement, not stillness. Amazing, how someone who was first of kin to chaos himself could lead Jim out of its grasp and provide the only serenity he'd known. Just one of those strange pitches that the universe threw your way whenever you were sure you knew all the rules. 

Like wanting to lean just a little closer and soothe that tender lower lip with his own tongue. 

Jim knew that he should have been more shocked by this particular curveball. Wanting Blair, or any man, had never been part of his game plan. But then, neither had becoming a Sentinel in the first place. It just was, like the sun that would soon rise in the east. Inevitable. Destined. And he wondered if it hadn't been there all along, patiently waiting for him to open his eyes and see. 

Between one breath and the next, that knowledge settled into him with a small ripple that changed his whole world. He was a Sentinel. He was a cop. And he loved Blair Sandburg the way he needed air to breathe. 

He brought his attention back to the matter at hand. Blair still had his eyes closed, and he was breathing slowly at last. The tight fists had relaxed until Jim could lace their fingers together. He could feel the tiny shivers through their joined hands, and absently rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles on Blair's palms. Now, if he could just persuade Blair to get some rest... 

Unbidden, his hypersensitive fingers searched out the tiny bundles of nerves at the base of his Guide's thumbs, then pressed and stroked. Blair's breath hitched, then his heart rate spiked. 

At first Jim didn't understand. Everything had been going fine, Sandburg had been almost relaxed. Then his pulse and breathing had jumped, and continued to increase. Jim doubled his efforts, pressing more firmly with each stroke of his thumbs in attempt to soothe his friend. He studied his Guide's flushed face as his efforts failed and Blair's heartbeat sped up again. 

//Damn it, I never should have screwed around with this Guide stuff. I should have gotten him drunk and poured him into bed, damn the hangover. I should have force-fed him warm milk, or just sat on him until he burned out, then put him in bed. *My* bed. Where he belongs/ 

Seriously alarmed now, Jim scanned his partner with a Sentinel's eye from head to folded legs. Then he froze, staring at the cause of the sudden relapse. Blair was aroused. And it didn't take Sentinel eyesight to see it. Hell, Mr. Magoo could have seen it. Then he smelled a musky, damp scent that he knew all too well from listening to the younger man masturbate when he thought Jim was asleep. 

A large part of him was elated, the part that was still coming to terms with wanting a man for the first time. The other part was scared to death. He sure as hell didn't want to be flying solo in this, but he'd accepted that chance with the same inevitability that he'd accepted his love. He'd never seen any indication that Blair was anything other than one hundred percent, show-me-any-woman-and-stand-back heterosexual. Unless he was completely wrong about his partner, this was going to be a learning experience for both of them. 

Time for another curveball. 

Somehow he doubted that Sandburg was going to accept this as calmly as he had. Even now, with his erection straining against his jeans fly, he didn't think that the younger man fully realized what was going on. Blair was still focused on his breathing, lost in sensation and the glide of Jim's thumbs over his palms. 

Suddenly a wicked grin lit Jim's face. He remembered an old girlfriend who used to go wild when he caressed and kissed her palms. Who would have guessed that the technique would work so well on short, manic anthropologists? 

//Score one for age and experience over youth and variety,// he thought. 

Then he focused on the pulse beating rapidly at the base of the other man's throat. That easily he was lost, perilously close to zoning on the scent of Blair's arousal and the damp, flushed skin of his neck. He'd thought his partner almost ethereally beautiful before; now desire gave Blair the earthy sensuality of a fallen angel. 

How would he taste, Jim wondered. Sweet, or spicy as one of his obscure native dishes? Would he be able to taste the green flavor of the herbs in the tea Blair had drunk, or the flowers in the honey he'd used to sweeten it? The temptation to just lean over and find out was almost overwhelming. He wanted to immerse all his senses in his Guide until the only thing that existed in his world was Blair. 

//Whoa, back up there.// Reluctantly, Jim dialed his senses down and shifted to relieve the pressure on his own erection. //Gotta start a bit slower, Ellison, or you'll scare the crap out of him.// 

Blair shuddered and let out a tiny moan as Jim found a particularly sensitive spot. The sound jolted him back to reality, and his eyes flew open. The deep blue was almost eclipsed by the equal amounts of shock, confusion and sexual heat dilating his eyes. "Jim -- what -- I didn't mean--" he stammered, trying to yank his hands away from Jim's. 

Jim held on to him, his grasp gentle but inescapable. "Blair Sandburg, at a loss for words. Alert the media," he teased softly. "Settle down, Chief." His thumbs found *that* spot again, and he reveled in the breathy moan it produced. Jim felt a little guilty for using Blair's response against him, but at least the younger man wasn't trying to pull away anymore. 

He kept his voice low-key and reassuring. "This is as far as it's going to go. Just relax and enjoy, Chief." Their eyes met, and Jim silently willed him to accept the gift he was offering, to trust him in this strange new facet of their friendship. 

"I don't understand," Blair finally said quietly. 

Shrugging, Jim replied, "Join the club." 

Blair tried to wave his hands in the air to illustrate his point, but Jim was still holding them. Frustrated, he sighed, "Man, I was so sure you were straight. You never gave a hint --" 

"Because I was sure I was straight." Jim gave him a wry, warm smile to put him at ease. "I just never wanted a man before you." 

"*Me?*" Blair's voice shot up to an painfully high note, and Jim winced as he dialed his hearing back a notch. 

"Yeah, you. It was a bit of a shock," he said, ignoring Blair's muttered, "understatement of the year". "I was sitting here, looking at you and breathing your breath, and it all suddenly felt right. Easy. Like when I have my senses dialed up, and all you have to do is touch my back to focus them." 

Blair was still shaking his head, looking stunned. "I had no clue, man. I never thought you could, you know, want a man. Let alone me." 

Jim frowned; he didn't like that edge of insecurity in his friend's voice. //One battle at a time.// "If I thought this was just me, I'd have buried it so deep, you'd never have known. I can't lose you, couldn't have taken the chance that you'd pull away." He glanced down at the erection in Blair's lap, seeing the other man do the same. "But it's not just me, Chief." 

Blair met his gaze again, and in those bottomless blue eyes Jim could see realization dawn of vast uncharted territory to explore. Excitement, trepidation, awe...everything he'd ever wanted was all right there on his Guide's face. And Jim could just see the scientist in his friend's head devising endless intimate experiments as they explored this new world together. 

"No," Blair confirmed softly but firmly. "It isn't just you." He cocked his head to the side and admitted, "I have no idea what to do next." 

Jim brought their linked hands to his mouth and brushed a damp kiss on Blair's sensitive palms. He let their mingled scents fill his lungs and intertwine deep in his soul. 

Then regretfully he released him and stood. "Next we take it slow and easy. Find our own way. Trust in each other. That's what we do every day, Blair, with my senses. But for now..." He held out his hand, palm up, and watched it tremble. "Sleep with me?" 

He suffered through an eternity balanced on the edge of hell as the younger man stared at him, the normally mobile face solemn and unreadable. Had he pushed too hard, too fast? Blair was such a contradictory mix of worldliness and innocence. Understanding the theory of loving another man was a damn sight different than actual practice; and Jim had a feeling his partner had done a lot more observing than participating in his life. 

And he understood. Observing was safe. Just watch, take notes, don't get involved. Don't get close enough to hurt, and don't stay long enough to belong. 

But Blair already belonged. Here, in this loft that was filled with his presence in the mundane items of everyday life. He belonged at the station, at Jim's side. He belonged in Jim's heart and soul, bound to him by the unexplainable connection between Sentinel and Guide. 

Now to convince his wary love to come close enough, to risk getting hurt for the chance to be loved. Jim wondered what else he could say, and despaired for the words that never came easily to him. 

Then Blair smiled. A little shy, a little uncertain, but still a smile that could call the angels down from heaven. His hand reached for Jim's and gripped it tightly. "I'd like that," he said simply. 

The breath caught in the Sentinel's throat. After a moment, he managed to cough, "Good. Um, that's good," and winced at his lack of eloquence. He scanned to loft in a distracted haze, noting that the door was locked and the coffee maker was turned off. Then he hauled Blair to his feet and gave him a gentle push toward the bathroom. 

"Go. Get ready for bed. I'll just..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the sleeping loft. //Change the sheets. Find another pillow. Maybe another blanket; he gets cold so easily...// But he didn't move. 

Blair lingered in the hall, obviously just as reluctant to step inside the bathroom and out of sight. "I'm going to come out and find I've been walking in my sleep, aren't I? This feels so unreal, man." 

In spite of his own nervousness, Jim managed a reassuring smile. "It's no dream, Sandburg. Come upstairs when you're done." 

Five minutes later, Jim smoothed back the fresh sheets and listened as Blair turned off the water. He'd already stripped to his boxers, and now he stretched out on the bed to wait. The overpowering scent of laundry detergent and so-called unscented fabric softener tickled his nose until he dialed down his sense of smell. The scent would wear off in a few days, and it gave him a deep sense of satisfaction to know it would be replaced by the smell of the two of them together. 

The accelerated heartbeat would have warned him even if he hadn't been listening intently for the hesitant step of his Guide on the stairs. Then Blair stood by his -- their -- bed, nervous hands twisting the hem of his flannel shirt. The younger man's eyes seemed riveted to Jim's chest. Sentinel hearing caught a tiny sigh. "Oh, man..." 

Jim couldn't help a warm glow of pride. He shifted, stretching slowly and feeling just a bit ridiculous for showing off. The utter absorption on Blair's face as he watched muscles shift sleekly under his skin made a little embarrassment worthwhile, though. 

He decided to keep it casual, low-key. He wanted much more time with Blair the first time they made love, and he wanted both of them to be absolutely sure what they were doing. Another thing for his brilliant partner to research. "C'mon, it's late, and I'd like to get some sleep before dawn." 

"Yeah, just a minute." Blair went to the other side of the bed and fumbled with the two shirts he was wearing. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes, giving Jim a perfect view of a lean-muscled back and honey-colored skin. As he bent over, just a hint of his ribcage showed, and Jim frowned as he made a note to explain to his Guide the importance of regular meals. 

Then he set aside that concern for later as Blair stood and toyed with the snap on his jeans. A blush tinted his face a beautiful dusky rose. "This time of year, I usually wear sweatpants to bed," he muttered. 

"I'll keep you warm." 

The quiet words had the weight of a vow. Blair's smile came more easily this time. "I know you will." Then the jeans were off, and Blair was darting under the covers to shiver against the icy sheets. 

Jim scooped the smaller man into his arms, then rolled him over onto the spot he'd already warmed. Blair's eyes flew open, the closed halfway as Jim's body heat wrapped around him. 

The adrenaline crash swooped down with little warning. First Blair gave in to a jaw-cracking yawn, then slowly his eyes closed and struggled open again. 

"Kiss me goodnight," he requested sleepily. Jim complied, brushing his lips against Blair's in a drowsy, chaste kiss. Blair threw one arm over Jim's waist and twined their legs together. Between one breath and the next, he was sound asleep. 

Jim tenderly raked the dark curls back from his partner's face -- his lover's face -- then settled the blanket snugly around their shoulders. He turned out the light and lay listening to the gentle thrum of his Guide's heartbeat. It felt right, having him close enough to touch, to hear the cycle of his breath without doors and distance in the way. 

One part of him argued that he shouldn't feel so comfortable holding another man this way. It should feel strange, alien. But that part was easily drowned out by the sure knowledge that his Guide was finally in his proper place. 

Finally the exhaustion began to drag him down as well. He had enough time to press a kiss to Blair's temple and inhale the sweet scent of his hair. Then he followed his Guide into dreams.   
  


* * *

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